


Autumnal Ballad of the Idiots

by crwoe



Series: Hauntober 2020 [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being a Little Shit, Hauntober 2020, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion is Stubborn, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Mess, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Nudity, Sleeping Together, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crwoe/pseuds/crwoe
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier take turns sharing a brain cell. Shenanigans happen.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Hauntober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949299
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	1. Fog

“Jaskier,” Geralt hissed, and Jaskier could _hear_ the way he grits his teeth as he said his name. “It’s alright if you’re scared, but you need to. Keep. Walking.” The Witcher had just collided into Jaskier’s back for the sixth time, but it wasn’t his fault! The damned white-haired bastard had dragged him out of a perfectly restful sleep. Then, they’d begun to fuck off into Gods know where through fog that was so thick Jaskier could _barely_ see his hand in front of his face.

He wasn’t _scared_. He was tired, cold, and now more than a little angry, but not _scared_.

Turning around, he found himself nearly chest to chest with Geralt. Jaskier’s heart thudded loudly in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of glaring at the Witcher. “Fuck off, I’m not _scared_ ,” he hissed back, slapping a hand against Geralt’s chest. He began to list things off using his fingers. “You interrupted my beauty sleep, forced me out into the cold, and now you’re upset at me for walking carefully so that I don’t kill myself out here in this fucking fog. I’m _pissed off_ not scared you massive bastard!”

“I could have left you behind,” Geralt shrugged, which was a terrible response. Jaskier had told him, multiple times, that he hated to be left behind in the dark with no idea where the Witcher had gone. He didn’t want to miss out on an adventure as he was always looking for material for new songs. Jaskier also, which he hadn’t said, really, _really_ didn’t like being left behind - alone. It was kind of the worst thing that Geralt could have said in this current situation.

“Oh, _fuck_ you!” Jaskier’s hands flew up and he slapped at the Witcher’s chest some more. Geralt grunted, or maybe he snorted a laugh it was hard to tell sometimes, before grabbing Jaskier’s wrists and stopping his slap attack.

“I was joking,” He stressed, letting go of Jaskier’s wrist after a few seconds. “Well, this is a _terrible_ time for you to develop a sense of humor,” Jaskier snarked back, using his newly freed hands to adjust and smooth his doublet. Geralt didn’t deem that worth of response and instead stood there stoically, a single eyebrow raised as he clearly waited for Jaskier to start moving again.

Jaskier threw his hands up in the air. “I still don’t understand why I can’t just ride Roach,” he complained. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed a long sigh out of his nose, then opened his eyes again. “Because,” he started slowly as if speaking to a small child, “Roach is skittish in the fog. She doesn’t need added stress,” Jaskier knew this was a conversation that they had already had - _multiple times_ this evening - but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

When Jaskier continued to pout the Witcher gave him an unimpressed look. “I’ll walk in front,” he relented, holding Roach’s lead with one hand and maneuvering around Jaskier. “Because you're scared,” he added, and then the bastard _smirked_ as he moved past.

“I am _not_ scared!” Throwing his hands up in the air, he stomped past the Witcher and didn’t allow him to take the lead.

Roach didn’t like his volume or the sudden movement and she stomped the ground nervously, making a high whining noise. Geralt tried to calm her, speaking in soft tones and gently patting her head. Jaskier, so wrapped up in his own head, didn’t notice that Geralt had stopped and continued to stomp ahead.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called sharply. Jaskier held up two middle fingers as he continued to stomp down the fog covered path. “Don’t you _’Jaskier’_ me! I thought you wanted me to move, well, I’m moving now! Aren’t you happy, Witcher?” He called over his shoulder.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tried again, but this time his voice sounded fainter. “Oh, what was that? Can’t hear you, Witcher! Maybe you should _move_ a little fast!” He stomped a few more steps forward and then turned with his hands on his hips. “You aren’t-” his loud voice abruptly cut out. “Scared, are you…” he finished, quieter, realizing that he was alone and completely surrounded by the thick fog.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned, a sliver of fear in his voice. Okay, so maybe he had been _a little_ scared before. Now that he was seemingly on his own that fear was quickly ratcheting up. He could _feel_ his heart pounding in his chest, and his breath coming up in short, quick bursts.

“Geralt?” He called, weakly. No response.

“Geralt!” He yelled shrilly. No response.

Panicking, Jaskier spun around in a circle, and then spun again. He did that a few more times and then realized that now he had no idea what direction he had originally been facing. The fog was so _thick_ , and everything looked the same. Fear gripped his heart, and he noted absently that he _hadn’t_ been scared earlier, not really. He couldn’t have been _really_ afraid when he had Geralt close by. Now, though, with the Witcher nowhere insight and not responding… now Jaskier was _terrified_.

“Geralt!” He tried again, his voice coming out squeaky. Jaskier took a tentative step forward, and then another, and another. As much as he wanted to sit on the ground and panic that wasn’t going to solve any of his problems. He might have been scared, but despite what people thought he wasn’t _helpless_.

Taking small, measured steps he traveled forward. Every few steps he would stop and call out for Geralt, and after a few beats of silence, he would start moving again. He counted his steps as he walked and it actually was helping to calm him down a little. His heart was still thudding dangerously loud in his chest, but his breathing was back to a slightly normal rate.

Until a hand clapped down on his shoulder and then he _really_ lost his shit.

A noise escaped him that he had never made before in his life and one that he would deny ever having made until the day that he _died_. His body felt as if it were electrified, with every hair on his body standing on end. Frantically he wrenched himself away from whatever had gripped his shoulder. Spinning wildly, he swung a fist and made solid contact with something judging from the immediate pain in his fist and the grunt he heard.

Before he could make an escape a hand grabbed his wrist. Automatically Jaskier brought up his other fist, but it was easily blocked and soon that wrist was also being held in place. With no other options, Jaskier thrashed about, trying to free himself of whatever devil had crept upon him in the fog.

He was so mind-numbingly frightened that it took him a while to realize that someone was saying his name.

“Jaskier! Jaskier! Would you… Jaskier!” After a few more seconds of struggling the sound of his name finally processed through his overworked brain. Moreso, though, he was exhausted by his desperate struggles and was running out of energy, panting for breath. 

“Jaskier, open your eyes,” came a stern command, and one in a voice that he _recognized_.

Opening his eyes, Jaskier found himself face to face with a very unimpressed looking Geralt. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he was gripping both of Jaskier’s wrists tightly in his hands. There was also a red mark on the side of his chin that was already starting to darken. Right where Jaskier’s fist had made contact.

Jaskier stared at him in bewilderment, only for him to smirk. “I thought you weren’t scared,” Geralt huffed, letting go of Jaskier’s wrist. Big mistake.

The bard launched himself like a feral animal. He collided with Geralt, and his actions must have surprised the Witcher because he was sent falling backward. He landed on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs, and Jaskier landed straddling his chest “Not. The. Time. For. You. To. Be. Funny!” he yelled, poking a finger hard into Geralt’s chest with each word.

The world spun, and suddenly Jaskier found himself with his back on the ground with the hulking form of Geralt looming over him. His heart thundered within his chest again, and this time it _wasn’t_ because he was scared.

Geralt leaned closer, his face mere inches away from Jaskier. “That’s what you get for scaring Roach, don’t do it again,” and then he grinned.

It took a few seconds for Jaskier’s brain to kick back into action. He was too distracted by Geralt. How close he was, the feeling of his breath tickling his face, and the flecks of gold he could see in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he breathed weakly, the best he could come up with when his brain was a puddle of mush.

Geralt, satisfied with that, rolled off of Jaskier and stood. He offered a hand to the bard, and he took it and pulled himself to his feet. “I hate you,” Jaskier muttered as he dusted himself off. 

“No, you don’t,” Geralt said simply, starting to walk away. Jaskier couldn’t even dispute that, so instead he hurried after Geralt so he wouldn’t be left alone in the fog again.


	2. Lantern

Jaskier tossed around in his tent again, trying to find a comfortable position. He settled, but just a few short seconds later he was rolling over again. Usually, he was a deep sleeper, but tonight… well tonight he needed to _pee_ and he was desperately trying to hold it until morning. He was warm and cozy, snuggled up tight in a bed of blankets and linens within his tent. The idea of having to leave the warmth, and comfort, and _safety_ of his tent just really did not appeal to him.

His bladder, however, had _other_ ideas.

“For fucks sake!” Finally, he gave in, flinging his blankets off and maneuvering around so that he could push the flap of his tent open. An inky blackness greeted him, the moon and stars too clouded over to provide any additional light. The only option he had for light was a lantern placed by the entrance of his tent that was just barely glowing faintly. Jaskier didn’t remember putting it there, and so the only other option was that Geralt had left it for him.

Or, more likely, he’d just forgotten it.

Either way, Jaskier crawled out of his tent and stood. He offered a silent salute in the direction of Geralt’s tent in thanks, and then scooped the lantern up as he trudged over towards the treeline.

He’d learned, _very quickly_ , that relieving himself too closely to his tent was _not_ a good idea. He may or may not have woken up to a _leak_ last time that had him crawling out of his tent and dry-heaving. Geralt had been amused, the smug bastard.

The lantern was only just barely bright enough to illuminate a step or two in front of Jaskier. Outside of his little sphere of light was total darkness. He could make out the shapes of trees in the distance, but only because they were a slightly darker shade of black. Squinting, he continued to walk forward and watched as the dark tree shapes grew bigger and bigger. It took longer than he had expected to hit the treeline. Apparently, their tents were set further back from the forest than he had remembered them being in the daylight.

There was an awkward few seconds there where he tried to balance the clunky lantern in one hand and unlace himself with the other, but it was late and he was tired and just not in the right mindset to try to juggle two things like that.

The lantern slipped from his grasp and landed sideways on the ground with a soft thump. Jaskier swore, abandoning his pants to quickly grab and right the lantern. The flame had diminished some, but at least the thing was still lit. He left it on the ground, deeming that the safest option, and set to work… _relieving_ himself.

Leaning his shoulder against the tree he angled himself away from the lantern so that he didn’t accidentally extinguish it. He sighed, eyes falling closed as he did his business. Jaskier was _tired_ , the bone-deep type of exhaustion that came from having traveled all day without any rest. This midnight tryst into the forest hadn’t been in his plans, but here he was. _Nature called_.

Jaskier finished up, tucking himself back into his pants. Eyes still closed, he must have dozed off for a second there because he found himself sputtering awake. Groggy, it took him a moment to gather his bearings and remember where he was. Groaning, he reached down and began to lace himself back up as he stepped away from the tree.

A twig snapped, but he ignored it as he struggled to fasten his pants. His fingers were cold and not cooperating, and lack of sleep was making him more clumsy. “Oh, come on,” He groaned as another twig snapped.

Except he hadn’t moved his feet, so how could a twig be snapping?

Immediate Jaskier froze, eyes wide as he stared down at the ground. He suddenly felt very, very much awake.

Slowly, he turned his head up and looked into the darkness. It was still almost pitch black, the lantern barely illuminating the tree that he was standing near let alone anything else. He squinted, trying to make out anything, when suddenly a pair of eyes appeared _way too fucking close_. They glowed amber in the darkness, the faint light of the lantern reflecting off of them, and as soon as the eyes locked on to him there was a rumbling growl.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, hoping frantically that the WItcher would be able to hear him. He was frozen in place, afraid to make a move, because he knew the beast in the forest would be faster.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said again, louder. In response the growling grew louder, the reflective eyes coming closer. Even through the darkness, Jaskier could make out the faint outline of the hulking shape of what was most likely a wolf. At least isn’t wasn’t some other kind of monster, like a leshen or something, but that thought did very little to calm Jaskier at the moment.

A soft rustle in the grass behind him had Jaskier frantically turning, his mind supplying up images of a wolf sneaking up behind him and grabbing him by the back of the neck. There was a wolf behind him, but not one that was any danger to him. Jaskier barely had time to register Geralt standing there before the White Wolf grabbed him and forceable shoved him to the side so that he could step in front of him. Jaskier was sent tumbling to the ground, landing hard on his backside, pants still undone.

The wolf in the woods had seen Jaskier’s turned back as an opportunity to pounce. Instead of colliding with Jaskier, however, it collided right into Geralt’s sword. It wasn’t a fatal wound, but the blade slashed the flesh of the wolf’s shoulder and sent it whimpering away into the darkness with a little bit of a limp.

Danger gone, Jaskier collapsed fully onto his back and let his head hit the ground with a thunk. His heart was pounding madly in his chest, but he could feel himself already calming down now that he was not in imminent danger of having his throat ripped out. 

“Your pants are undone,” Geralt spoke from where he stood looming to the side of Jaskier’s prone body. Immediately Jaskier threw a hand down, covering the top of his pants. “Don’t stare, you pervert! I had other things to worry about,” he grumbled as he angled his hips away from Geralt and quickly did up the laces. His fingers had finally decided to cooperate with him.

“Next time, look before you piss,” Geralt said, unhelpfully.

“We can’t all see in the dark, Geralt,” Jaskier rolled to his knees, and then stood up. “How about you make yourself useful and grab the lantern,” he pouted, crossing his hands over his chest.

“I thought scaring off the wolf that was about to tear you apart was _useful_ ,” Jaskier couldn't see it, but he could hear the smirk in Geralt’s voice. The Witcher did, however, go and pick up the lantern from where it had fallen over in the heat of the moment. The flame was completely extinguished now, but it was the only lantern they had and thus the only way for Jaskier to be able to function in the dark.

The dark mass that was Geralt moved closer, nudging at Jaskier back to get him to move. “If you want straight forward you’ll reach the tents,” He supplied, being able to see what Jaskier could not. He huffed and grumbled, but he also trusted Geralt even though he was basically blind and set off walking as he’d been instructed. The Witcher stuck close behind him, and every few steps would gently push on one of Jaskier’s shoulders to make sure he was going in the right direction.

They made it back to the tents, not that Jaskier could _see_ them, but Geralt grabbed the back of his doublet to make him stop walking. “Careful, careful Geralt! This was _expensive_!” Jaskier complained. He heard Geralt huff in the darkness.

A lone howl broke through the silence of the night.

Jaskier immediately pressed himself close to Geralt, and the Witcher had gone unnaturally still. After a few beats of silence, Jaskier could feel Geralt’s body relax. “It isn’t coming in this direction, but it is out there,” He informed him, either able to see or hear or smell something that Jaskier would never in his life be able to pick up on.

“What’re we supposed to do if it comes back? Oh, Gods, what if it gets me when I’m in my tent? How and I am supposed to sleep, Geralt! I need my beauty sleep, I’ll get wrinkled! Do seem like the type of person who would deal well with premature wrinkles! I’m going to be positively _haggard_ ,” Jaskier ranted, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Get in my tent,” Geralt supplied, cutting off Jaskier’s rant before he really got going.

“What!” He sputtered, turning to face Geralt. “How am I supposed to sleep in there? You snore, and you probably use rocks as pillows, and, and, and…” Jaskier trailed off, desperately trying to think of a reason as to why he couldn’t sleep in a tent with Geralt. Mostly because it was sort of a fantasy of his and he was pretty sure he would wake up in a _really embarrassing_ state.

“I don’t snore,” the Witcher, without waiting for an answer, moved away. Jaskier could only just barely see his outline as he went into Jaskier’s tent, and then came out with blankets in his arms. He walked past Jaskier, pushing the bundle into his arms, and then moved to the flap of his tent. He held it open, looking at Jaskier expectantly.

Jaskier stalled, wracking his brain for a way to get out of this without revealing his true reason. From the tent flap, Geralt let out a long-suffering sigh. “Jaskier,” He started, voice sharp now. “Get. In. The. Tent.” he commanded.

“You can’t talk-” Another howl ripped through the air, and, oh Gods, did that sound closer? Jaskier scrambled into the tent, basically diving through the flap that Geralt held open, and landed on top of the blankets he’d been holding. He began to spread out his things on one side of the tent, pointedly _not_ looking at Geralt as he moved his meager belongings over to make more space.

Blankets arranged, Jaskier bundled himself up and wiggled as close to the wall of the tent as he could, leaving a large gap of space between himself and Geralt. “Good night, Jaskier,” Geralt said simply, rolling onto his side.

“‘Night,” Jaskier mumbled, knowing that there was no way he’d be able to fall asleep with the threat of the wolves and the threat of his own body betraying him.

\- - - - - - - - - - 

Jaskier awoke disoriented. It was the feeling you got when you woke up somewhere that was unfamiliar. The type of situation where it took your brain a moment to remember where, and why, you had fallen asleep. Despite the disorientation, he was pretty damned comfortable, and so he was more than happy to snuggle down into his blanket, grabbing tightly at the pillow in his grip.

Except he hadn’t gone to sleep with a pillow.

Suddenly _very fucking awake_ Jaskier’s eyes opened wide and he found his vision whited out. Or, not whited out, but rather there was white stuff blocking his view. Hair.

Pulling his head back, he realized many things at once. Jaskier was pressed up entirely against Geralt. His face had been buried in his shoulder, and he had both an arm and a leg wrapped around the Witcher. He was practically _on top_ of him. The Witcher in question was also awake and starting up at Jaskier with a raised brow.

“Can I get up now?” He asked, making no further comment on the way the two of them had woken up.

“No,” Jaskier blurted out, mouth making a decision before his brain could.

“No?” Geralt asked, actual surprise flashing across his face for a moment.

“No, I’m still sleeping. Beauty sleep is important. Wrinkles, Geralt, wrinkles,” Jaskier babbled as he decided that he was _not_ ready to deal with whatever this was. He put his head right back down on Geralt’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Geralt made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, but he didn’t move to get up. Instead, he turned his head, chin resting against the top of Jaskier’s head, and let the bard sleep.


	3. Forest

Jaskier strummed his lute, back resting against a tree, and his gaze unfocused as he looked out at the river just a few short feet away. They’d been traveling through the forest for three days now and were in fact still in the midst of their traveling, but they’d stumbled upon a river smack dab in the middle of their path.

Now they needed to decide if it was worth it to cross the river, or if it would be better to travel alongside it and hope that it either grew smaller somewhere or that there was a crossing further down. At least it was mid-day, and so when Geralt grumbled and stalked off into the forest Jaskier had been more than willing to sit down and wait for him to come back.

A noise in the forest sounded behind him, and Jaskier’s finger paused on the strings of his lute. He felt his body coil tight in anticipation because _of course_ stuff had to happen while Geralt was away. There was no way Jaskier could get a _break_ for once.

The trees rustled a few feet away, and Jaskier pressed himself firmly against the tree and hoped that maybe he hadn’t been noticed. He clutched his lute to his chest, gaze fixed on where tree branches were still moving.

Suddenly a figure emerged from the brush. Jaskier blinked, trying to register what he was seeing, and as soon as he realized what it was he broke out into loud laughter. The figure growled, but all that did was make Jaskier double over and laugh even harder.

“Oh my Gods! Did something eat you and shit you out?” he laughed, looking up as the Witcher approached closer. It was the Witcher, of course, but he had returned in an entirely different state than what he’d been in when he’d left. He was covered nearly head to toe in what _could_ have been shit but was actually probably mud.

Geralt stalked closer, glaring down at Jaskier who was still overcome with uncontrollable giggles.

Rather than say anything the Witcher simply lifted his arm and then brought it down sharply. Mud splattered off of his arm, landing directly across Jaskier’s face, which shut him up immediately.

“Oh, very _mature_ ,” He hissed, wiping uselessly at the mud splattered across his face. 

“You’ve got some in your hair, too,” Geralt added, his mud-covered hand coming down and landing on top of Jaskier’s head.

He _shrieked_. “You bastard!” Jaskier scrambled to his feet and aimed a few slaps in the direction of Geralt, but all he did was splatter more mud onto himself. “You are buying me new clothes the next town we get to or I swear to the Gods I’ll, I’ll… _I don’t even know what I’ll do_ but I can garun-fucking-tee you won’t like it,”

The Witcher, the bastard, laughed and turned his back towards Jaskier. He began to unfasten an unbuckle himself, dropping weaponry and small bags that he had been carrying on his person. “I mean it! You can’t just ignore me, Geralt, I am _very_ not ignorable,” 

Geralt continued to ignore the bard, kicking off his shoes and dropping his belt. “I’m going to cut your hair while you’re sleeping! I’m going to take a shit in your shoes. I’m going to-” Jaskier’s threats immediately cut out as Geralt peeled his shirt off with one hand and then swiftly dropped his pants.

And there he was, completely nude except for the mud-caked onto his skin.

Jaskier sputtered, cheeks going violently red, and spun around. He needed to grip the trunk of a tree to keep a hold of himself. “What the fuck,” he said faintly, fingers turning white as he gripped the bark of the tree with his full strength. He desperately tried to think of anything except the nude man standing behind him, but he wasn’t having very much luck. He could feel the heat in his cheeks expanding to _other_ parts of his body and, oh Gods, he _did not need that_ right now.

Splashing echoed from behind him. Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and then dared to peek over his shoulder. Geralt was now standing in the middle of the river. The water, _thank the Gods_ , came up to his waist and completely covered the lower half of his body. He turned at that moment, his gaze meeting Jaskier’s, and arched an eyebrow at him.

Jaskier immediately slapped a hand over his eyes, smearing the mud more across his face, and heard Geralt laugh.

“Jaskier, come clean yourself off,” Geralt called, and from the increased sound of splashing Jaskier guessed that he was using the water to cleanse himself of the mud.

“Uh, no thank you, I'm perfectly fine here,” Jaskier peeked through his fingers just in time for Geralt to give him a very unimpressed look. 

“You stink,” the Witcher said simply, and Jaskier gasped aloud. 

“I do not you absolute bastard!” He yelled.

“I can smell you from here,” Geralt responded, wrinkling his nose.

The Witcher knew exactly what to say to get under his skin. Jaskier took a great deal of pride in his appearance and personal hygiene, and the thought that he might smell was enough to have him stepping up to the river bank.

“Turn around!” He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest and leveling his best glare at Geralt. He said nothing, but he did turn so that his back was facing Jaskier. He was still very much covered in mud, but his scrubbing had helped to get rid of some. Across what pale skin Jaskier could see he could see the faint outline of raised skin - scars. He knew the Witcher was covered in them, had even seen them himself, but there was still something about them that drew Jaskier in. He wanted to know the stories of those scars.

He also wanted to trail his tongue across them.

And, oh no, _he was not thinking about that_.

He focused his mind on undressing himself. He pulled off his various layers, carefully folding each piece of clothing, and he quickly found himself as naked as the day he was born. He glanced at Geralt, was happy to see that his back was still turned, and took a few tentative steps into the water.

“Holy fuck that cold!” He yelped, splashing loudly. Geralt huffed but kept his back turned.

“Gods, how are you not frozen?” He complained, his teeth already starting to click together even though he was only in the water barely up to his shins.

“You get used to it,” Geralt supplied, unhelpfully.

Gritting his teeth, Jaskier trudged into the river until he was deep enough to duck his head under the water. He came up sputtering, body shaking at the chill, but he could already feel the layers of mud and grime on his skin seeping away.

The two of them silently stood there, a few feet between them, scrubbing at themselves. Geralt kept his back towards Jaskier, and Jaskier focused on looking anywhere except at the Witcher. A few minutes was all Jaskier could stand. He scrubbed himself as best he could, but his body was beginning to shake more strongly and his teeth were rattling in his head.

Mid-Autumn was not the best time to be taking a river bath.

“Get out, Jaskier,” Geralt commanded, his voice much closer than Jaskier had anticipated. He startled, and turned to find the Witcher had moved closer. “I can hear your teeth chattering,” he said sternly, giving Jaskier a sharp look. “And your lips are turning blue,” He added, concern flicking across his face.

“I, I, I thought I, I, I smelled b-b-b-ad?” He glared at Geralt.

Geralt gave him another sharp look. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Jaskier, ever the stubborn bard, ignored Geralt in favor of scrubbing at himself more. This was probably not the time for him to put his foot down, and he really was _fucking freezing_ , but this was all Geralt’s fault in the first place. Maybe if he got sick and died that would show the big fucking idiot!

Large hands reached for Jaskier, and suddenly he found himself being gripped tightly by the waist and shoulder and being marched out of the river. “Geralt!” He pouted, but at the same time he didn’t put up much of a fuss. He was cold, and this had not been the right time to try to take a stand.

“You are a stubborn bastard,” Geralt huffed, leading Jaskier all the way out of the river. Jaskier was faintly concerned about how close their naked bodies were, but at the same time, he was too cold to really worry about it too much. His skin had taken on a blue-ish tinge, and his fingers and toes had gone a bit numb.

Geralt left Jaskier on the bank of the river and went to dig through his bags. Jaskier stood there, shivering, using both hands to cover his front and blinking icy water out of his eyes. Geralt swore, obviously not finding what he was looking for, and Jaskier looked up in time to see him drink a vial of something.

The change was immediate. The Witcher’s eyes took on a red tinge, and steam began to waft up off of his skin. He pulled on some thin underclothes hastily and then made his way back over to Jaskier. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around the bard and pulled him close.

Jaskier's immediate reaction was to pull away. Geralt was barely wearing anything, and Jaskier was naked as the day he was born, and they were _way too close_. But then he registered the heat that was radiating off of the Witcher’s body, and he found himself desperately leaning into the touch.

He buried his frozen nose into the junction between Geralt’s neck and shoulder. The Witcher made a little noise at that, but he quickly swallowed it down and instead tightened his grip around Jaskier’s waist. “This is y-y-y-your fault,” Jaskier said weakly, trying to press himself as close to Geralt as he could.

“Shut up,” Was Geralt’s only reply, but he tightened his arms again and Jaskier took that as the apology that he knew it was. After a few minutes, Jaskier could feel his fingers and toes again. A little after that the blue tint began to vanish from his skin. Then, finally, his teeth stopped chattering. He looked better and felt better, but he was completely exhausted from the whole ordeal.

Jaskier tried to pull away, lifting his head, but Geralt raised a hand and gently pushed Jaskier’s head back down onto his shoulder. His heart began to beat harder in his chest, and he could feel his newly warmed body beginning to react to the close skin contact. As subtle as he could he tried to angle his hips away from Geralt, but then the Witcher spoke and Jaskier paused.

“I’m sorry,” it was said so softly that Jaskier almost thought he hadn’t heard it.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier sighed. Under any other circumstance, he probably would have teased the Witcher endlessly, but right now Jaskier was quickly developing a _situation_ and in order to prevent it from developing further he desperately needed to put some space between himself and Geralt.

Geralt shifted, and then his thigh brushed against Jaskier’s very obviously hard dick.

Jaskier froze, face still buried in Geralt’s neck, completely and utterly mortified. But then the Witcher was moving again, adjusting, and he showed no sign of having notice. Surely he would have _said_ something, or at least reacted in some way. Letting out a huff, Jaskier pulled his head back. He needed to get out of this right now before Geralt actually did notice, or before Jaskier did something more embarrassing.

“I appreciate the human fireplace thing, but I would really like to get dressed now,” Jaskier explained. Geralt removed his arms from around Jaskier and instead reached for his chin. Gently, he tilted his head this way and that as his sharp gaze raked over Jaskier’s face. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw he released Jaskier. He immediately covered himself again and scampered away to go get back into his clothes.

The cold started to seep in again as soon as he moved away from the Witcher, but it was different. It wasn’t a physical coldness, but rather a hollow feeling in his chest.

He was well and truly fucked.


End file.
